"That's mine," said Jack, and made a motion to recover.
"Let it alone. Turn out everything. Nuggets!"
A miner's chamois belt unbuckled and flung heavily down. The scales jingled and rocked; every pocket in the belt was stuffed.
"Where's the rest?"
"There ain't any rest. That's every damned pennyweight."
"Maybe we ought to weigh it, and see if he's lying?"
"'Fore God it's all! Let me go!" He had kept looking through the crack of the door.
"Reckon it's about right," said Keith.
"'Tain't right! There's more there'n I took. My stuff's there too. For Christ's sake, let me go!"
"Look here, Jack, is the little bag yours?"